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What to Write?
Back to An Old Ornate Journal ''An old ornate journal, yellowed with age and written in strange symbols, that only those educated in the exotic languages and writing would know as Kangxi. It is written back to front. '' I remember seeing them for the first time. I had kept to my self in my room aboard the steam ship, rehearsing all I would say to the Druidic Order. They were and are so pale, as if the sun has rejected their skins, and their hair the color of straw and honey and a few like the autumn leaves. They crowded around the harbor, scurrying to and fro, much like my own harbor had, but it was different, the smells and the sights. I did not see rickshaws, only great large beasts, some slender and skittish, others stoic and stout, and they pull in the place of people. How did they fit in such crowds? I still will not approach them as I think they are faerie beasts. I do not understand the women, they look like walking bells. At least their laughter emulates their shape. They are all too tall here. I felt much a child walking at market alone for the first time. They tower over me with tall hats and taller legs. It almost, but not quite, made me long for home. Such stares I have never received and I am by no means a pretty girl. I wore my official cloths, pants of silk with robes of silk, in colors I did not see on the men and woman. My bright jades, teals and splashes of red brought eyes to me like pixie to flame. Some one greeted me, he wore a strange bit of twisted metal around his neck and green leaves and red berries pinned to his cloak. At first his words are confusing and he repeats them again, slower and for some reason, louder. I am not deaf I tell him, once adjusting to the new language. Next is a whirlwind of activity I have never known. I am put in a carriage, my courage was tested sorely here, and taken to men and women eager for the magick knowledge I can grant them. But they hear not what they are expecting. I explain that I do not ever wish to return to China, and that I will teach them much more then I would have if they keep me on. Also, I explain, there will be consequences. They are silent. I am silent. They need time to consider. They know what I ask is dangerous though I don’t think they understand to what extent. Of course the lure of more magick is strong and heady. It takes three days, but they accept my offer. I was and still am put away in a house; I guess it is a house. Funny wooden doors block the way and there are hardly enough windows to allow proper lighting. The walls are heavy and strangely decorated with what smells like glue and paper. Not normal paper but heavy, thick, clumsy paper. It does not retain any grace or movement. It is merely something slapped against a wall and called “pretty”. I live here with a few servants, keepers more like, who see to my needs and I suppose keep me from trouble. They’ve long since stopped staring at me, but they whisper behind my back. I do not think they know I can understand them perfectly. So rarely do I converse with anyone, other then the Order, that I feel as if I have forgotten how to speak. All was fine for the first six months, but then I think the Emperor began to wonder why he received no reports. First it was a message sent to me. I wrote back lies of no progress and uncooperative Europeans. This satisfied for maybe two more months. More letters and more lies. I believe eventually a spy gave away my game, for a year after I was received by my gracious hosts I was confronted with him. Gang Lei. He was tall though I know not as tall as those of the variety here. Perhaps imposing is better. He had slipped into my home without a sound and we meet in the sitting room as I was walking to the garden out back from the kitchen, tea in hand. There he stood before the French doors leading to the outside world. It was not his first intentions to kill me, or I’d have been dead right then. First were questions and answers that needed fulfilling. He watched me like the mountain cats and moved as if raised among them. I have never known fear as horrible as that, but right then I knew what a rabbit felt under those claws. He wanted to know the usual things, why I’d not reported why I was not doing my duty. The confidence in his eyes and movements as he slowly advanced on my position spoke of long arrogance and unchallenged supremacy. I suppose I should have groveled at his feet and begged forgiveness from the Dragon Emperor, but the way he walked and looked at me took me back to a little girl sitting beside her sick father’s bed. When the guards quickly extinguished the life from both him and my mother, all because a sad little girl wanted to see her father one last time, they looked the same way, arrogant. They held the power in my little village. They were lords over us and they could take our lives if they so desired. Or were ordered. I did not bow. I did not grovel. I cast magick. I doubt he knew what hit him. He saw me grab for something in my pocket and as he drew his kitana I drew a fan, an old fan that my mother had given me. So quick was he at his craft that he had moments to realize what I had drawn and give a cold smile, though I think he remembered what I was at moments just too late to react. With a gentle flick of a wrist and turning of the body, glass shattered behind him as the trees and plants writhed and grew at an alarming rate. Branches flew and leaves violently shook as they tried to entangle the man, but he kept them at bay with his blade. I believe it was cold iron and so was especially effective at holding their progress. I did not stay to question the mettle of his metal. I ran calling out for any who would hear me. An unfortunate scullery maid came into the room to see what the fuss was. Her frail constitution could not withstand the site of a foreign man with a blade she could not recognize hacking at trees that should not be moving under their own power. She did the only sensible thing an English maiden could do. She fainted dead away. Swooning I think they call it. The English are a strange breed. It was not my time to die that day for one of the Order had come to visit me at that very moment and as I went headlong for the front door it opened and I collided with an orange mopped man that went by the name of Patrick O’Malley. (Romantic?) He steadied me with whip strong arms and asked what was wrong. The combination of fear and the noise in my sitting room gave him enough clues to know that the consequences of my and the Orders actions were here. He rushed forward, untangling his staff from his cloak as he went. The chaos of the sitting room had not abated. All the chairs had been over turned and a few broken, the small table smashed and the glass cupboard had still wriggling vines speared through it. In the middle of the scene was Gang Lei still fighting them off though he wouldn’t for much longer. My spell only lasts so long. It was enough time though, for Patrick to add his own touches. The ground in the garden started to heave and grow and eventually a rough imitation of a figure stood completely composed of mud and dirt. It lumbered into the sitting room, contributing even more clutter to the already thrashed room, and joined the fray. I simply brought fire into existence, not wanting to be left out of the fight and hurled it at my would-be killer. I singed Gang Lei’s cloths and when he turned to put out the flames the earthen golem swung, connecting with him and tossing him hard into the wall. My Nemesis knew when he was out numbered and defeated so quickly retreat out the way he had come in. My spell of vines finally expired and as quickly as they grew shrank back into the ground leaving only the destruction behind to tell the story of what had truly happened. That was several months ago. The room was quickly put to right and I believe the scullery maid quit. I’ve no idea why I am so compelled to begin writing my story but here it is on paper. This book seemed to call to me while I was out on my usual jaunt in search of the latest romance novel. Being in this society so long, near two years now, has taught me a few things. One I’m tired of hiding, I wish to be recognized by those in the “Ton” like my favorite romance heroines. Perhaps attend a ball and meet the King of this land. Or become a true Diplomat to not only the Order but to the people of China like myself, those with the talent. I’m sure their services could be used here. Finally I wish to retire away to some small country side and grow my own teas and herbs to sell. English tea is dreadfully over ripe. Category:Layflat Castle Falkenstein